Genesis makes this clear to you

so you can see with your eyes,

flee with your feet,

receive all with open arms.

Halahoyi, Africans, something stinks

like the ground snake, fouling the air.

The truth is there in the scriptures

and also within our blankets.

Will all the years roll by?

Will you mark time through this year too?

If only you people shared the news

of what you see of life in this land.

May our leaders see eye to eye,

stop putting each other down.

Day after day you ask for donations.

To what end? We're still amazed.

Genesis says so as fog descends:

where's this star brought by the whites

that said there was treasure in heaven

when the manna was here on earth?

Think about it!

I confirm the truth, concealing nothing,

so we wield the shield of truth:

those bibles they used to rein us in

stand as tall as I do down on my knees.

Mercy, Africa, Garden of Africa!

I saw a baboon with dirty teeth.

Even a jackal suckles its whelps:

do you see him standing in line?

Wailings! So then, my people,

take heart! Remember our country,

speak as of old in Hintsa's voice.

(The names of kings confuse me.)

Genesis says: “These are my words;

tell your people I'm the one talking.”

You perish for lack of diviners

as if every home housed a witch.

Our fathers bore the yoke together,

together they snapped the traces,

in the forest they slew a lion,

dealt with the preying wolf.

Bring back to mind the days of our fathers:

they used grass skirts when they couldn't go out,

but you herded them like David

on the mountain slopes of Gilead.

This hill the black man scales is steep,

it nearly daunted Christian;

his mouth frothed with a sloven's foam,

his ears flared like a cobra.